The Beach House
by JeanTre16
Summary: After Gerard's death, d'Artagnan asks Jacqueline to join him at the beach house he'd casually mentioned in the Young Blades episode "Four Musketeers and a Baby." One shot.


D brings J to a beach house to get away from the garrison

**The Beach House**

By

JeanTre16

D'Artagnan and Jacques arrived by horseback at the small house on the beach. They sat for a moment in silence, taking in the view. The house itself was quaint – a one story, white washboard structure with a large front porch that overlooked the sand and rock mixed shoreline. The beach was abutted by a sandy dune to one side of the small house and seemed to reach on forever in the opposite direction. Gulls lazily hovered in a small covey, scanning the wave front for its meal offering.

"It's beautiful here," Jacqueline's voice broke their silence. She looked at her traveling companion, meeting his gaze.

Uncomfortable to hold her gaze too long, d'Artagnan nodded and dismounted his tired horse. Offering his hand to take her reins, he suggested, "Let's get settled before it gets dark, shall we? I'll take care of these two. You go on ahead and open the house up. It's been a while since anyone's been here."

"I'm still amazed you never told me that you owned this place at the beach," she said as she handed him her reins.

He recalled the time he suggested that they could get married and live in a little cottage by the sea. But she was right; he did leave out the part that he already owned such a place. D'Artagnan thought better of bringing that up now. No matter how he felt about her, this was her time to heal and he would stick to his promise to make sure she could let her guard down against his unwarranted advances. So his only response to her comment was the shrug of his shoulders.

Seeing that she would not get an explanation, she swung her leg over the saddle and jumped down from her horse. Without further conversation, she untied their packs and made her way over to the house.

D'Artagnan looked up from his task, painfully watching her back as she waded through the sand to the house. Outwardly, she wore her musketeer uniform, but at present, he only saw the woman he wanted to help. As difficult as it was for him to check his feelings toward her, he brought Jacqueline to the beach house for her benefit, not his. She needed this time to get away from the garrison, to get away and to be herself. She needed this time to grieve her brother's death and to think about what course of action she should take next. She had suffered so much and he had been so helpless to do anything for her. That was, until now, until he thought of the beach house, the one place he recalled to have special healing powers over his own grief.

Two weeks ago, when he made the suggestion to her about spending a week with him at the seaside, he was prepared to be turned down. He knew it would sound like another one of his schemes to make a pass at her. And he knew he deserved her mistrust too. But she didn't turn him down. Surprisingly, with little resistance, Jacqueline agreed to go with him. He could only figure that she needed to get away that badly. And he made a promise to himself to respect that.

ooOOoo

Inside the cottage, Jacqueline set their luggage down and opened her pack. She pulled out her dress and laid it over the changing screen. Returning to her pack, her vision caught on something unexpected. "What's this," she said, seeing another dress layered below the first. There was a note on top that read: _For you, something new, D'Artagnan. _She pulled the dress out and held it up. It was simple, white and beautiful.

Just then, the door opened and d'Artagnan walked in to see her holding the dress. "I hope you like it," he said, trying not to sound awkward or allowing anything else to seep into his statement.

"I can't accept this," she responded, lowering the gown.

His heart sank. Maybe the gift seemed too presumptuous, given alongside with the trip to the reclusive beach house. "I know what you're thinking," he justified his actions. "But you're wrong. I only wanted you to have something … new," he finally found the word he was looking for. "No strings attached. Your impeccable reputation remains untarnished."

Standing there with the dress clutched to her chest, she looked suspiciously at him from the side of her eyes.

"Honest," he defended.

Her gaze of suspicion gradually left him, and she held the dress up again with an almost longing look.

He took note of her desire and it pained him. Despite her toughened front, he knew when he picked the dress out that it would be something she'd like. And he wanted her to have it. "Go ahead and try it on. Take as much time as you want. I'll be outside on the porch." Without waiting for her response, he opened the door again and stepped out.

Jacqueline stood in solitude for an interval. Then, sighing, she disappeared behind the changing screen with the white dress. Layer by layer, she removed her male clothing and laid it over the top of the screen. At last, she pulled the cool white dress over her head and let it slip over her once again feminine figure. Smoothing the fabric down with her hands, she looked into the full-length mirror before her and stared at the transformation. To complete the picture, she let her hair out of its queue and let it drape around her shoulders. Her eyes scrutinized the rest of what she saw. There was no smile, but she did appear relieved to shed the weight of the musketeer uniform and its façade for a while.

ooOOoo

Outside, d'Artagnan sat on the porch swing, casually swaying back and forth and looking out at the ocean. A gentle breeze caressed him, just as he reminisced it did in his earlier visits to the seaside. He closed his eyes. The quiet, too, was something he remembered, except for the crashing of the surf and crying of the gulls.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of the opening door. He opened his eyes and turned to see Jacqueline stepping out, wearing the dress he gave her. She quietly took up a spot near the swing and together they faced the ocean without a word.

When she finally spoke, her eyes remained distant on the rise and fall of the waves. "It's nice here. Peaceful."

D'Artagnan agreed; he felt more relaxed here than he had in a long time. He turned toward her again. Pleased that she was wearing the dress, a twinkle appeared in his eye. "You look nice too," he said, the corners of his mouth rising. He didn't want to over-do his comment and make her feel uncomfortable or on guard, so he kept his reaction to the minimum.

Their eyes met. "Thank you," she acknowledged with a slight nod and looked away from him, back out to sea.

As if suddenly remembering his manners, he moved to get up and offer her the swing. "Please, Mademoiselle, allow me; the swing is yours." Although there was room for two, he kept to his promise to give her plenty of space to not feel aloof.

"Don't get up," Jacqueline insisted. "We could both use the rest," she added and joined him in the swing. Her gaze went seaward again, taking in the scene like a child making a discovery for the first time.

It pleased him to read her reaction and his eyes went from her to the ocean as well.

"I've never been to the beach before," she confessed. "I've heard stories about how beautiful it was." Not knowing how else to describe what she saw, she repeated her earlier words, "This is very nice." Then, with a curious look, she faced him and asked, "When's the last time you were here?"

It took him a moment to answer. There was a lot about his life that he kept to himself. He didn't know where to start, especially when it came to the beach house. "It's been … a long time," he finally settled on his answer. "I was only ten. My mother miscarried, and my father, freshly returned from his Sicily campaign, brought us to this beach house."

D'Artagnan raised his hand to point out the embankment in the distance and continued, "I remember running down that slope, plotting an ambush on my parents. I was spying on them," he revealed with a boyish grin. "And when I sprang my attack, my father overtook me and tickled me to death." His countenance glowed in relating his story.

Jacqueline looked at d'Artagnan, intrigued. "Ticklish, hm? I'll have to remember that," she said with the first hint of a smile in weeks.

Still reliving his childhood, he didn't notice her smile. Outwardly, he cringed at her pronouncement that she discovered a weakness in him. Inwardly, he felt alive, cherishing one of the few great moments he shared with his father.

"Thanks for bringing me here, d'Artagnan." She looked back toward the beach as though she tried to imagine the sight of little d'Artagnan being tickled by his father. The smile remained on her face.

"You're welcome," he answered, softly. Suddenly noticing the smile play on her lips, his heart quickened. Finally, he managed to give her a reason to smile, even if it was at his expense. He took a deep breath of the salty air to slow his pulse and closed his eyes again. Everything felt right for him there at the beach house; it always had. And maybe, just maybe, it could help make things feel right for her too.


End file.
